A Kiss to Build a Dream On
by Wiiplayah43
Summary: The Vault Boy: a child born out of an artist's imagination. None are sure how, but he walks the earth, a shining beacon of hope & optimism in a world without a scrap of either. reviews are appreciated
1. Intro

A Kiss to Build a Dream On

The blazing sun beat down on the desolate wasteland. Sand & dust swirled through the air as the wind picked up, filling the sky with ugly brown grain. In the distance, an old phonograph plays a tune, beaten, weathered, and rusted over the years of its long existence.

"Give me, a kiss to build a dream on, an' my imaaaagination, will thrive upon that kiss… Ooo, sweetheart, I ask no more than this… a kiss to build a dream on, ooo…" Its lone serenade fills the hot air. Any who heard the happy tune might have been instilled with a slight sense of hope, were there anyone around to hear it.

"Give me, a kiss before you leave me, an' my imaaaagination, will feed my hungry heart… Ooo, leave me, one thing before we part… a kiss to build a dream ooon…" The phonograph cries out, desperate to be heard, desperate for someone to come and ease the loneliness of its being. But no one ever comes. Its only company is a radscorpion skittering along the desert sands looking for water, or maybe a golden gecko or two. Still, the phonograph plays on, knowing that one day, someone will arrive to listen to its beautiful tune, and maybe even take it with them.

'A Kiss to Build a Dream On.' Boy, that Louis Armstrong sure can sing, huh? Hey there, I'm the Vault Boy, that happy-go lucky guy who's accompanied countless people over countless adventures, sipping a tropical drink in the middle of a bonfire, shooting somebody into a bloody pile with a tiny pistol, and even receiving oral sex from three porn stars at once, all while doing it with a smile! Guess who's going to be the main character of this story? That's right, it's yours truly! I won't be the one telling it though, this story will be told using that dandy third-person point of view! Oh, but the thought of someone watching everything I do and telling it to who knows how many people, it makes me so nervous! I've got goose bumps! But oh well, the show must go on, right? And war, war never changes!

"Hey, that's my line!"

Oops, sorry Ron! I didn't know you don't like it when other people say that.

"It's all right. Just try not to do it again, okay?"

Okie-doh! But anyways, let's not dilly-dally, shall we? On to chapter one!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Birth of a Dream

WARNING: Contains heavy amounts of 50's lingo.

A young man of twenty-three years strode along the sidewalk, his dark gray pinstripe suit starkly contrasting with the bright, sunny day. In his right hand, he clutched a calendar, its cover reading, "2077 Calendar: The Hottest Babies with the Classiest Chassis'!" He held up the calendar in front of him and looked at the woman on the cover. She was very attractive, with red hair & clad in a scant white bikini. "'Bout time I got a calendar for this year…" he mumbled to himself.

The young man walked up to his house, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. After closing the door, he immediately tore the plastic off the calendar and flipped through it. Each month had a different woman, all of them young, attractive, and bikini-clad, just like the woman on the cover. "There we go, October…" he said as he laid the calendar on a nearby table. He grabbed a pencil and circled the 23rd. Not wanting to nail the calendar to the wall, he simply left it on the table and walked up to a TV set to turn it on.

He pushed the power button, and the screen flickered. On it was a cartoon boy dressed in a blue jumpsuit, grinning from ear to ear and waving at the people watching the television. The words "Vault-Tec Industries, building a better future by ensuring a safe tomorrow!" flashed across the screen. The man's mouth cracked into a slight grin as he saw the boy. "Vault Boy… First, he's an idea in my imagination and next, he's the mascot of a major corporation!" he said quietly.

Suddenly, the young man felt the urge to draw his creation. He turned off the TV and put a record on his phonograph. After lowering the needle, he watched the record as it began to spin. "Give me, a kiss to build a dream on, an' my imaaaagination, will thrive upon that kiss… Ooo, sweetheart, I ask no more than this… a kiss to build a dream on, ooo…" As he listened, time seemed to stand still, like the song would never end, like it would keep playing until the end of time. He snapped out of the trance, sat down, and began to draw.

This wasn't like all the other times the young man drew his brainchild. He wasn't drawing the boy for Vault-Tec to use in one way or another. This time, he drew with passion and care, paying painstaking attention to each little line & curve. In his mind echoed the saying, "A true artist can breathe life into his works."

The artist heard a knock at the door. Upon opening it, he saw another young man, also of twenty-three years, dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit & sporting a duck's ass.

"What's buzzin', cuzzin? How's about you n' me tonight go pick up some chicks in skins or some paper shakers, make the scene over at a passion pit n' catch a flick with the other mushroom people n' subterraneans, an' play a little backseat bingo with the dollies? The pit about five blocks away, I tell ya, that place is antsville! We'll kill the babies, razz their berries, it'll be like crazy! You take your flip-top, I'll take my new screamer. It'll be no sweat, absolutely made in the shade! Waddaya say?" the man asked.

"Thanks, but I'm gonna need to pile up some Z's tonight." replied the artist.

"Wassa matter, afraid of a fake out, o' gettin' clutched?"

"Nah, I'd be a fream, the only one without a jelly roll for a nest. …Actually, all the front burners happening lately are getting me worried. We've had to annex Canada, China invaded Alaska last year, the European Commonwealth has dissolved… Part of me thinks I should have gone into a vault."

The friend smirked. "Ya don't really think the Reds'r gonna drop the big ones on us, do ya? It's all a conspiracy! They're lightin' up the tilt sign! Those vaults weren't built to 'save humanity', that's for damn sure! *Sigh* Well, I'm gonna agitate the gravel. With or without'cha, I'm gonna see to it that the shitload o' bread I spent on my new Corvega was worth it. See ya later, alligator. Oh, an' try not to be such a square, 'kay?"

"After a while, crocodile." the artist called out to his friend as he walked to his car. As he watched his friend drive off, he muttered under his breath, "Two-hundred-thousand dollars for a car? For cryin' out loud, the world's not made of money…"

He closed the door, sat back down at his desk, and resumed drawing. As he finished the final line, the saying echoed through the halls of his mind again: "A true artist can breathe life into his works." He could hardly believe his eyes as he witnessed what happened next.

The drawing began to be pulled off the paper and into the real world. It grew, and became three-dimensional. And then, it spoke.

"Golly, it sure is dandy to be alive!"

The young artist fell backwards and crashed to the floor. "What in the hell!?" he screamed. "What are you!?"

"What a silly question!" the living drawing exclaimed cheerfully. "I'm the Vault Boy!"

"B-but… you're a drawing! How did you come to life!?"

"Your guess is as good as mine! But, it sure does feel dandy to be alive!"

"Yes, you… said that already—Hm? What's that noise? It's coming from outside…"

The creator stepped outside and saw an airplane flying high overhead. He saw a large object being dumped out of it, and by the time he realized what it was, all he could do was mutter three words: "Oh, God no…" The last thing he ever saw was a blinding flash of light.

Vault Boy was pitch black from head to toe with soot, his hair sticking out in all directions, his eyes wide, and his mouth in a perfect oval. It was just like in a cartoon. People would have found the sight humorous amid the unspeakable destruction, were anybody alive to see it.

"Oh goodness me, it seems we've gotten ourselves into a bit of a pickle, haven't we?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Out of the Frying Pan

Vault Boy shook himself out like a wet dog, soot flying helter-skelter, and somehow ended up squeaky-clean. He could hear more explosions in the distance; some of them very far away, some of them closer, even close enough to see. The suburb he was standing in, or rather on, was completely decimated. The street was torn up like an old ribbon, the street lights were ripped out of the ground and bent as an old man with a crooked spine, and the houses were reduced to mounds of dust & rubble. Where the creator stood not a minute before, there remained only a black silhouette in the shape of a man.

Amidst the ruins of the creator's house, something caught Vault Boy's eye. With a light, curious approach, he stepped forward and examined the object. It was a broken phonograph, hideously blackened and appearing far beyond any hope of restoration. Vault Boy frowned. "This little guy needs some tender loving care & repair!" he rhymed.

Picking up the phonograph he said, with his huge grin returning to his face, "You're comin' with me, little fella! I'm gonna see if I can get you fixed!" He made a motion that looked like he stuffed the phonograph into his pocket, despite his jumpsuit's lack of the aforementioned holder of miscellaneous items. When his hands withdrew, the phonograph had mysteriously vanished. "There we go!" Vault Boy chimed. "Nice n' safe!"

The explosions continued for about two more hours. Then, total silence. A hot wind blew, streams of dust flying in its wake. The few who miraculously survived the suburb's nuclear annihilation then began to dig themselves out of the mountains of detritus that had once been their dwellings. If home is where the heart is, then their hearts had surely been crushed under the rubble.

They looked at themselves, seeing their skin was horribly burnt. They scrambled for any reflective surface they could find: a shattered mirror, a shard of broken glass, anything. When they gazed into their reflections, they found the horrifying, grotesque faces of zombies staring back at them. It then dawned upon them that the charred, disfigured images weren't those of zombies, but of themselves.

The survivors began to cry, wail, & scream in horror and disbelief. Their minds averted from the misery for a split moment, and all eyes drifted to gaze upon the horrifying destruction, the irradiated remains of what had once been the state of California, of what had once been the world. Their cries intensified even further. One of the damned even fell to his knees, threw his arms into the air, and yelled into the gray, smoke-filled sky in a disgusting & raspy voice, "God, why have you forsaken us!?"

Vault Boy frowned again. His eyes caught a creature that had once been a woman. She had been consumed by hysteria, down on her hands & knees and staring at the ground. Taking pity on the zombie, Vault Boy attempted to console her.

"Aww come on miss, it's not so bad! You still have your health!"

The female looked up. "My health!? Look at me!! I'm a monster, a fucking monster!!" she wailed.

"Well, umm… You still have your life!"

"Yeah, a miserable life as a fucking freak living in a god-damned wasteland!!"

"Aww don't worry, things'll get better, I promise!"

"Things'll get better!? How the fuck will we ever recover from this!?"

"I… umm… I don't know, but somebody'll find a way!"

"Yeah right, that's bullshit!! There's no fucking hope for us!!" The tainted beast let her head back down and continued to cry.

Realizing that the best thing he could for these people at the moment was leave them alone, Vault Boy decided to set off into the world, or at least what was left of it. Marching forward at a steady tempo, his grin was plastered back onto his face, and he returned to his unnaturally optimistic self, with a little spring in each step.

Trekking through the desert sands, there was complete silence. Not a creature was in sight, not a mouse, a scorpion, a lizard, or a vulture. Even the wind was still as a corpse. All of a sudden, Vault Boy heard a loud "moo."

"OHMYGODWHATTHEHECKISTHAT!?" he screamed. All at once, his eyes & mouth grew cartoonishly huge, he spun around in the direction of the noise, pulled an SMG out of his invisible pocket, and unloaded an entire clip into the first thing he saw that moved.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" Vault Boy screamed as he pumped the creature full of hot lead.

Once the clip emptied, he calmed down and examined what he was shooting at. It looked like some kind of freakish, mutated cow with two heads & extremely rough, brown hide. The bullet bath it received had mutilated it horribly: A huge chunk was blown out of its side, exposing the ribcage, its organs spilled out onto the ground, and blood ran out of it like a faucet, dying the sands a deep, sanguine red.

"Oh boy, lunch!"

((Author's note: I apologize for this chapter's short length. I wasn't feeling a lot of creative inspiration this time around, but the next chapter will be better.))


End file.
